


Aftermath

by OnceUponaFangirl



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 19:49:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4449962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnceUponaFangirl/pseuds/OnceUponaFangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spoilers for up to 4x22. All just speculation after that. Emma deals with the aftermath of becoming The Dark One and the guilt that accompanies her actions during that time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftermath

There’s a novelty to the familiar crunch of leaves beneath her tattered boots. She could probably walk this path blindfolded and yet her steps were unsure and timid. It reminded her of returning to the foster system after a family decided they no longer wanted her.  Nothing felt quite right, the air thicker, her limbs heavier; the magic that coursed through her veins humming a different tune.

Emma hadn’t wanted to give up the darkness that embodied her, the power leased to her, clashing with her light magic like an all-consuming drug. It brought a sensation of freedom with it, liberation from the burden of savior.

It wasn’t always like that though. There were moments that she found herself slipping away; the mirror reflecting a stranger, a monster, instead of the person she had grown to be. In these moments, she found strength in Killian’s arms, in his determination to do what’s best for her despite the Dark One’s requests turned threats, in his desperate whisper against her neck _I love you, Swan. Come back to me. I will right this. Your parents, Henry, me; please resist it, Emma. We love you._ And at times, that was enough to keep the darkness at bay. The longer it stayed inside her, however, the more possessive it became. Always promising more, telling her to take, take, take; promising there would be no consequences to her actions and that her family only wanted her weak.

Her endeavours as the Dark One had no motive, it was simply a game that she could never lose, satisfying its need to prey on the less powerful. Each breach into darker territory brought along a new high, testing her limits and newfound power, the fear she could provoke with her mere presence. But once the curse was broken, she was left with guilt. Not power, not freedom, not without regrets. Only guilt and pain for the damage she caused. It was overbearing, a crushing weight that pressed into her from all sides. A force so strong that it couldn’t be lessened even with the comforting words and soothing glances of her newly reunited family. She distanced herself from them, keeping behind closed doors of a new house. But seclusion only worsened her anxiety, so oftentimes she wandered. She roamed the woods, backroads, fields, dodging the apprehensive eyes of townsfolk.

But now, Killian walks with her, hands interlaced in the silence that hung between them. With him she could just be. No pressure to talk or pretend she was okay (he saw through her facade and almost never failed to call her out on it). He understood the feelings simmering underneath her skin, not the way her magic bubbled differently now, but the struggle to give it up, to want it back.

“I’ve a many more stories I can share if they’d bring you comfort, love,” he says as they approach the gangplank. After Merlin ripped the darkness out of her, Killian had started telling her tales of his pirating days, of his vile deeds against others and the lives he took, in the most vulnerable, haunting way she knew. She could hear the guilt in his tone when he spoke of that time, feel it in the tenseness of his muscles, his gaze drifting downward until the end, looking up with fear and antipathy in his eyes. She smoothed over the crinkles with her thumb, and a solemn upwards turn of her lips as a silent thank you. She returns the same smile now and steps into his embrace, letting him guide her down to his quarters.

“I’m okay.” Emma kicks off her shoes and settles into his bed, sinking into the solace of his body, letting his hand toy with thick strands of her hair. When his calloused fingers brush against her neck, she hums in contentment, falling back against his shoulder blade. He’s so warm here in this small, cozy ship and she can’t help but contrast it to the vast dwellings she occupied as the Dark One, How much she had longed for this closeness, suppressed by the darkness inside her. It was easier to fall back into this with him than with her parents and Henry. Killian and she were more alike now than they had ever been, succumbing to the inner demons, to their own selfish desires, until it turned futile, eventually finding each other at the end of the tunnel.  In the aftermath, he seemed to be the exception to her detachment from the rest of the world.

“You know love, I was thinking we could take everyone out for a day of sailing. Maybe even have dinner at your new residence. That is a custom in this realm, I believe. We could invite your parents, even Regina and Robin. Your boy has been itching to show off his new skills.”

Her body stiffens and he lets out a sigh, placing a kiss to her temple. She can handle a few hours at a time, but an entire day? After everything she did to them as the Dark One. . .She feels the remorse rising from a pit deep in her chest again, towering over her, surrounding her. It makes her want to cower down and hide, or run as she's always done. But there's a security in how his arms tighten around her, his breath hot on her skin, so she counts to five in her head. Giving herself five seconds to let the fear, pain, and guilt, consume her. Then she exhales a breath she hadn't known she was holding and relaxes into his grip, awaiting what's next.

“Emma,” he pauses, furrowing his eyebrows. “You can’t do this to yourself. To them. They love you and want to be with you just as I do. As much as I love having you all to myself,” he kisses her hair, his hand moving to gently massage her shoulder, “this isn’t right. Before, you said that you regretted all the time you spent upset with them, for pushing them away. So don’t do that now. Let it go.”

And she doesn’t know if it's the exhaustion, the idea that she may one day be free of the guilt, the image of her son, beaming with pride as he navigates the waters, or his voice saturated with concern and love, knowing that he's right, but she listens. “Okay.”  It will be gradual, but one day she'll wake to realize she's finally forgiven herself.


End file.
